


Home Is Where Your Breaks Are

by KamalasFanfiction



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/F, F/M, Hacking, Other, Overworking, POV Second Person, Reader is Coded as a Woman of Color but their gender is never specified, Reader-Insert, gender neutral reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 01:01:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8823766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KamalasFanfiction/pseuds/KamalasFanfiction
Summary: Sombra has been working on an exploit for two days. You don't know anything about the company she's working for, sure, but that doesn't mean you can't push her to taking a little time off.or Overworking: accomplishedFood: uneatenEmotions: feltSombra is forcibly removed from her laptop.





	

“When’s the last time you ate?”

Sombra startles, her eyes bleary from staring at the computer screen for so long. She’d long since cranked it down to its lowest brightness setting, but it was still headache-inducing. She turns to face you, her forefinger digging into the area where her cybernetic implant met her scalp, trying to ward off the possible migraine. “Don’t really remember.” She jams her thumb into the space bar a few times, if only because it’s  _ something _ to do with her hands. “I’ve been stuck on this exploit- nothing’s  _ working _ and it’s not even supposed to be a hard hack.”

You hum and nod, walking over to lean over her shoulder, your eyes scanning the screen to see if there was anything you could help her with. “Sorry, sweetness, still looks like nonsense to me.” You smooth your fingers up the back of her neck, your nails scratching lightly at her nape. She sighs and leans back into your touch, her eyes closing instinctually.

She’s slow to process it but, when your words sink in, she clicks her tongue, her mouth twitching into a half-smile, joking, “ _ Gracias por la ayuda _ .” Sombra takes in a particularly deep breath and her head drops like a child throwing a yoyo- and snaps up just as fast, her eyes opening wide. “S _ orry _ , I know I’ve been cooped up all day, but this is getting  _ frustrating _ and I really just can’t figure out the f _ ucking _ -”

“Two days.” You interrupt her, and she feels your touch move to the curve of her ear, then down to her jaw. You turn her head to face you. “You’ve been cooped up in here for almost two full days.” The way you say it is so matter-of-fact that she pauses and actually glances down at her computer’s clock. 

Either she’d just time traveled, or, yeah, your claim was completely right. The blackout curtains in your shared room would also not have given away whether or not a full day had passed. 

She fits the pads of her fingers on the top of the laptop, tapping them along the edge, her lips pursed. It wasn’t like she was losing any progress (and she hadn’t been able to find any way  _ in _ , so there was no traces of her in the system for her to cover), but it still felt like admitting defeat, which made her teeth grit slightly. You tilt her chin up and away. “You’re probably too tired to see the answer in front of you-”

“¿ _ Eres tú _ ?” She’s messing with you, tilting her head downwards in your palm, making exaggerated kissing noises. “Really, I didn’t think I’d been in here for that long- I didn’t mean to ignore you for so long,  _ mi sol _ . Sometimes, I just don’t open the curtains.” She winks at you, and feels adoration bubble in her chest when you giggle, even if it’s somewhat strained. 

“Don’t worry about me, Sombra- I’m worried about  _ you _ .” She wonders if it ever bothers you that you only know her manufactured alias, that it’s the only thing you can call her. In tender moments like these, looking at your features softened in the lamp light, she wants to tell you the name of the girl she was, the one that had thought someone looking at her like this was an impossibility. She wants to hear that name on your tongue. 

Yet, even as blurry as you look to her through her tired eyes, this isn’t a dream- there are consequences to what she does. Even sharing this little apartment with you wasn’t without risk- her requested (and, suspiciously, approved) days off for reconnaissance spent in the shithole of an apartment that you called home. She tells herself that she’s already in too deep- she’s a villain with a capital V, endangering one more life shouldn’t make her so nervous. 

But with you, it’s different.

“You didn’t hear a thing I just said, did you.” It’s a statement, and it sounds like you’re frustrated with her. Sombra blinks a few times, staring up into your eyes (notices the bags under them- she hopes those weren’t because of her). You sigh, leaning down to brush your lips against her forehead- her head bobs down again, and it’s getting harder to stay awake. You start to leave, and she drawls out a long “ _ lo siento _ ” to your retreating form, but even the idea of this being the straw that broke the camel’s back, that this is the one thing that she does that annoys you enough to leave her...

She’s so tired that she dimly thinks that you  _ can’t _ , that there couldn’t be anything after you walking out of her life. If you left, there was no one left to come home to. 

Her hands feel like weights when she shuts the lid, if only so she doesn’t fall asleep onto her keyboard. She pushes it to the side and sets her head down- you always were good at knowing when she needed breaks. You were right, as always. 

Your footsteps enter the room, and she’s only aware of them in her peripheral. Sombra hears a plastic plate being set down, but her unconscious mind spins it to a manufactured memory of home, of a holiday where there is food on the table and family to laugh with and at. She feels arms wrap around her, drag her over to the bed, and she nuzzles into your embrace, wondering if her parents would’ve liked you. 

And then, immediately, thinks that they’d love you. She would be the problem- a little too much rebellion in her heart for anything domestic. 

You pull off your jeans to sleep in your underwear, your leg hooked around her calf, pulling her close to you. “‘Dunno if you’re still awake and just being difficult, but I left you a sandwich and some apple slices beside your computer.” There’s a comment about the dozens of unopened water bottles littered around the room on your tongue, but you bite it down. “You’re always overworking yourself- even the world’s best hacker needs breaks sometimes.”

“Worl’s best...?” Her speech is slurred. Not really awake, she pulls you closer, her arms firm around your back. With her face in your neck, she smiles, “ _ T’amo _ .” It’s the first time she’s ever said that she loved you without a punchline, and it takes you a few moments before you sink into her embrace, grinning and warm. She doesn’t notice how still you had gotten- just finally allows herself to fall completely asleep, feeling safe and loved in your arms. 

And, really, who said her brand of domesticity had to be like anyone else’s?


End file.
